Chapter 2

"Eliminate him!" Andrew ended the call and reentered the café, irritation evident in the twitch of his eyes. He scowled, noting that his espresso had turned cold during the 15-minute call outside. Annoyed at the inconvenience, he swiftly ordered another cup, acknowledging that he couldn't function without his coffee. His attention was drawn to the documents on the table, accompanied by a sticky note. Picking up the note, he read the words, and his dark eyes widened imperceptibly. Doubt and suspicion crept into his mind. Could this be some kind of deception? He contemplated the origin of the written pointers, questioning their authenticity. Rising from his seat, he inquired sharply, "Did you see who was at my table just now?" His threatening gaze fixed on the nervous barista. "I-I don't know, Sir," stammered the barista, intimidated by the imposing figure in his late 20s. Andrew's towering 6'2 height, coupled with the white scar on his right eyebrow, added to the intimidating presence, creating an aura of danger. Every movement emphasized the flex of his black Tom Ford suit as he gathered his belongings and exited the café. The barista sighed in relief as Andrew left. Putting on his signature black shades, he dialed a number on his phone. ring ring "Dante," he uttered in a flat tone. "Yes, boss," came Dante's prompt reply from the other end. "Find out if the company Bridge is going bankrupt and using us to artificially boost their stock value," Andrew commanded, his grip tightening on the phone. The mere thought of being manipulated irked him deeply; after all, he was the one who relished using others. "Understood, Boss," Dante acknowledged. "Get the information from the black market if necessary," Andrew added before ending the call. He wasn't one to blindly trust information, especially when it came from an unknown source. In the cutthroat business world, spreading false information for personal gain was a common tactic. Andrew intended to verify the facts through his trusted sources before making any decisions. Striding purposefully towards his office, Andrew received respectful bows and greetings from the workers along the way. Franklin, noticing the signature scowl on his brother's face, couldn't help but comment, "Who pissed in your coffee?" Passing the sticky note to Franklin, Andrew hissed, "Fucking Bridge," as he read its contents. Their discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," Andrew said. Dante entered, delivering the news they had sought, "Sir, the information you asked me to verify is valid. They are indeed going bankrupt, and they've gone to great lengths to prevent this information from leaking." Both brothers looked livid. "Fire the entire team working on this project. What the hell are we paying them for?" Andrew's eyes narrowed, and Dante, sensing the icy chill in the room, hurriedly exited to carry out the orders. "He sure has guts," Andrew mused, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his jet black hair. His eyes darkened, a violent storm brewing within them. The audacity of Bridge to attempt to deceive them would soon meet its reckoning. Death would soon welcome that bastard. "Then let's demonstrate precisely why we've earned the moniker 'Monsters,'" Franklin's lips curled into a subtle smirk. In the public eye, Andrew and Franklin Powell were known as gentlemen, garnering respect and admiration. However, their reputation in the cutthroat business world painted a different picture. They were infamous as monsters, devils, beasts, psychos, and more—a title they not only embraced but embodied. As the co-owners of multiple global corporations, Andrew and Franklin Powell were not just billionaires; they held wealth and power beyond measure. Their twenty-eight years of unbreakable brotherhood had elevated them to the pinnacle of the world, gazing down on others with a sense of dominance. Andrew, standing tall at 6'2 with a scar on his left eyebrow, and Franklin, at 6'1 with no apparent flaws, shared striking features—beautiful raven eyes, sharp chiseled jaws, and jet black, lustrous hair. Years of dedicated workouts had sculpted their bodies into a perfect balance—not overly muscular but possessing well-defined forms. Their heritage was a blend of American, Scandinavian, and Russian bloodlines, making them the epitome of beauty. Men and women alike desired to emulate or be with them. In the public sphere, they were seen as gentlemen and the most eligible bachelors, but few were privy to what lay behind the facade—a truth masked by immoral activities carried out without a hint of remorse. Andrew, cold and ruthless, paired with Franklin, narcissistic and cunning, formed an unstoppable duo that dominated the world. They wore the mask of gentlemen in public, but their true nature was concealed from most—a dark side that engaged in unspeakable acts. Taking lives with the casual indifference of squashing ants was routine for them. Their souls were stained by the blood of enemies, whether innocent or not. Behind a seemingly harmless smile lurked a profound heartlessness. Their icy gaze had the power to freeze someone in their tracks. While commoners revered them as ideals, their rivals understood the brothers were wolves in sheep's clothing. Their strategic machinations mirrored those of predators hunting their prey. They were like snakes—poisonous, cold-blooded, vicious, and cunning.